


Any Man's Game

by tossertozier (rednoseredhair)



Series: Giveaway 2017 [1]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Gay Chicken, M/M, Snowed In, Trans Female Character, Vomit, ben is a trans lesbian and i love and support her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 02:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13262202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rednoseredhair/pseuds/tossertozier
Summary: It's two months before graduation, and Richie and Eddie can turn virtually anything into a competition.Even kissing.





	1. A Very Serious Wrestling Match

**Author's Note:**

  * For [palisadespalisades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/palisadespalisades/gifts).



The sun was bright, beaming into the room. It harshly directed itself into the eyes of Richie Tozier, who swore as he sat up. His back cracked painfully, and he realized he had slept the entire night on the wooden floors of the basement of the farm. His vision was fuzzy, barely able to make out the shapes of his friends. Mike was on his right, tucked under a thick plaid blanket, almost curled into Richie’s legs, Bill on his other side. Stan was stretched out across the entire couch, as he was one to do. Ben was nestled with Bev into the armchair, Bev half-curled up on her lap, hands loosely laced together. The offensive light came shining through the slim windows at the top of walls, breaking apart from the wood paneling.

“Ha,” a soft, amused noise. Richie turned. Eddie was standing at the top of the steps, mug in his hand, looking smug, “I could have told you I’d be the first one up.” He was too far for Richie to see in any sort of clarity. Richie, dumbly, tiredly, looked to his left, and noticed Eddie, had in fact, vacated from the spot where they had fallen asleep.

“Ugh, fuck,” Richie groaned, digging the heel of his palm into his eye, “what time is it?”

Eddie laughed, and Richie heard the staircase groaning in protest as Eddie came back down. “I don’t know, sleepy-head.” He joked, hopping over Bill, “my phone is dead. I just woke up to go to the bathroom.”

“We were up so late last night,” Richie rolled his neck around in a gracious circle, feeling the muscles ache.

“Glasses?” Eddie paused by the coffee table and asked. “And it was your fault.”

“Nah,” Richie shook his head. He smiled to himself when Eddie slid back into his previous spot, tucking himself back under his thick fluffy white blanket. “And it definitely wasn’t.”

“Richie,” Eddie replied flatly. Richie laid back down on the floor to avoid the annoyed little bugger. “How was it not your fault?”

“I was challenged, and I had to win.”

“Okay, well first of all: you didn’t win, so let’s start there.” Richie sat up with an incredulous look. Eddie had his fuzzy little arms crossed, and probably a cross expression on his face. Richie didn’t know. He couldn’t see it.

“Okay, that’s bullshit. I fell asleep to the sweet sound of your wheezey little snores, Edders.” 

“I do NOT snore-”

“Oh, my god,” Stan groaned loudly, “you two kept us up until fuck-all in the morning, and now the sweet, sweet song of your insufferable bickering is our wake-up call?”

“You fell asleep at midnight, Stanley,” Richie snapped back. “And no one said you had to participate, you could have all just accepted your likely spots as losers.”

“No one p-p-participated, Rich.” Bill chimed in sleepily from the floor, ending his sentence with a yawn. “You two were j-ju-just…”

“Shh, Bill,” Mike’s hand shot out from obscurity, rubbing itself gently across Bill’s face to quiet him in a spectacularly odd way, “maybe if we just lie here, they’ll forget we exist.”

Eddie sat up and snatched Richie’s glasses from the coffee table before Richie could think to grab them. Because Stan was already awake, he bounced to the couch, stepping on it triumphantly, holding Richie’s glasses high above his head. “ADMIT I don’t snore!”

Bill laughed into his hand, “n-no one was t-tuh-talking about th-hat anymore, Ed-d-die.”

“Oh, Eddie,” Richie sounded almost sympathetic, “you don’t want to do this.”

“Fucking try me, Trashmouth.”

Richie lunged for Eddie’s midsection, who jumped away, half laughing, half shrieking. If Ben and Bev weren’t up yet, they definitely were now. Mike groaned as Bill grabbed Stan, tugging him off the couch as it was declared a war zone. Mike rolled away from the couch himself, but not letting himself fully submerge into reality. He kept his eyes shut.

Eddie jumped up on the on the armrest of the couch, hand just barely out of the reach of Richie’s finger tips.

“Eddie, be carefu-” Richie started to chastise him, so Eddie kicked him in the chest, sending him flying back into the couch. He pressed his foot into his chest, smugly holding the glasses up with one hand still.

“SAY IT.”

“SAY WHAT?!” Richie laughed.

“SAY THAT I DON’T-” Richie grabbed for his foot on his chest, digging his fingers into the bridge. Eddie felt back on the couch with a snorted laugh, wiggling out of Richie’s touch like a snake with with emotional attachments yet a deep need for freedom. Richie situated himself over Eddie, his chin almost on his chest, hand creeping up his forearm for his glasses.

“Try a little less hard, Rich.” Bill commented in a small enough voice that only Mike and Stan could hear him. “Please, I really want this to take all day.” He said sarcastically. Mike laughed into the floor, and another laugh was heard- that of Beverly Marsh, who was quite clearly awake, sitting on the arm rest of the armchair.

Ben had her arms wrapped around her girlfriend, clearly still exhausted, face pressed into Bev’s side, and yawning. Bev grinned a bright smile at the boys, running her fingers through her girlfriend’s blonde hair. “I don’t know what you mean, Bill,” Bev commented innocently, clearly joking as well. “Quite clearly: Richie has put in an olympic amount of effort here. I’m talking gold medals.”

Richie grabbed Eddie’s forearm, not listening, or pretending not to, to his friends. He tugged it relentlessly towards himself, as Eddie tried, albeit not very hard, to throw the man off of him. Bill rolled his eyes, and laid back down on the pillow he dragged over. The two had truly done a terrible job at making the entire thing look like a genuine wrestling match and not an excuse to touch each other. Because everyone knew, Eddie included, probably, that Richie could have grabbed Eddie with one hand and been done with it.

Eddie threw his arm out of Richie’s grasp, and Richie sighed, looking bested. He flopped down on top of Eddie, digging his chin into his chest. “Fine,” he clicked his tongue. “I’ll admit it.” He ran his hands up to Eddie’s shoulders, leaving them resting there. Eddie, rightfully so, looked skeptical. He squinted at Richie, cautiously lowering his arm, because it was starting to hurt, and looped his arms around the back of Richie’s neck.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, blinking.

“You don’t snore,” Richie explained, tucking his face into Eddie’s chest. “You snufgle.” He spoke directly into it.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Richie looked back up with a shit eating grin, “you snuffle. Like a kitten.” He shouted loudly when Eddie shoved him off of him, off of the couch, and onto the floor with an outraged shriek.

Mike Hanlon let his eyes open, thoroughly giving up on his precious sleep even though his brain was still buzzing and tired. How Eddie and Richie managed to turn anything into a competition, and anything that wasn’t a competition into an argument, was almost entirely beyond him. It seemed like a gift, or the world’s worst superpower. But that habit had started when they were like, fourteen, and seemed no closer to dying even though they were just shy of two months until they graduated from high school.

* * *

When they were 15, it was all little paper balls and trash bin basketball nets. It was the late days of school where it was unbearably warm and the shrill voices seemed to echo in the hot chambers of classrooms of teachers who had completely checked out.

“HAHA!” Richie laughed euphorically as his ball went in for a second time, multi-colored braces somehow more obvious with such a wide grin. “Suck on that, Eds.”

“Here’s something to suck on, Richie:” Eddie bit back, “your ball was too big.”

Richie blinked. He shoved his glasses up his face and licked his very chapped lips, “I’m sorry, Eddie. That was too many innuendo opportunities, even for me. I’m gonna need you to narrow it down.” He leaned in and grabbed Eddie’s notebook again. He ripped out another big page. His bracelets, an eclectic mix of leather braids and friendship knots, dragged across the stripes.

Eddie’s eyes narrowed, “if your ball is big,” he ripped the crumpled paper out of Richie’s hands, “it’s way easier to get it in. It’s simple physics, Richie.”

“Huh,” Richie blinked, “so that’s what it’s called.”

Eddie flushed, crumpling the paper up in his hands “fuck you, Richie.”

“Eddie, you just told me it was called ‘physics,’ so now, which is it? Because I, for one, am getting confused here.” Eddie huffed with irritation, barely aiming the ball at the basket, as he began to open his mouth and hotly reply. Mike didn’t mention that Eddie, too, made the basket. It didn’t seem pertinent, and he had a headache.

* * *

When they were 16, it all ended in vomit. Their first alcohol experience, and naturally they were both determined to prove they had the highest tolerance of the Losers. Eddie and Richie stared each other in the eye as they downed their first shot. And then, immediately after, their second.

Mike, to that day, really didn’t know what happened. Nobody did, including, he thought, the two of them. They went to a house party as a group, and quickly ended up splitting up. It was a smaller house than he anticipated, all the lights shut off, packed and tight, with music pounding. He was having a nice talk with some people from their high school when Ben practically flew around the corner. “Mike, we need you. Bill and Stan have Eddie,” she explained quickly, with panic. “We need your help getting Richie.”

When they whipped around the corner, Bev was soothing back the hair from Richie’s face as he vomited. “I know, babe. I know,” she told him quietly.

“Fuck, how much did he have?” Mike asked Ben. Ben shrugged, fiddling with the end of her baby pink sweater nervously. Her face was flushed and hot, sweat running down pink cheeks.

“I’m not sure. They were together,” Ben explained quietly. Mike didn’t even ask who _they_ were, he knew. He looked nervously to Bev, who audibly sighed in relief at his presence.

Bev looked stressed, her hair pulled out of her own face roughly into a sloppy bun, her hands holding Richie’s out of his face. He was relatively warm-skinned normally, because of his mother, but he looked ashy and grey.

“Hey, Rich,” Mike rolled up his sleeves, kneeling down beside his friend. “Can you walk?”

“Bill carried Eddie,” Bev explained with a wince. Mike wrinkled his nose, afraid of that. Of course, Bill had two inches on Mike, himself, and a good four on Eddie, and probably around 40 pounds on the kid. Richie was a good four inches taller than Mike, and if he had a guess, probably outweighed him. Farm work could only get Mike so far. He looked to Ben.

“She tried,” Bev shook her head.

“I can walk,” Richie coughed into the bowl. Thick chunks fell out of his mouth. “I’m so sorry, guys.” He wiped at his mouth with his sleeve and then wrinkled his nose so his glasses were nearly dislodged from it. “This is fucking gross.”

Mike sighed, patting Richie on the shoulder with a loud clap. “Let’s get you home, Rich.”

It wasn’t until they were in the car, Ben’s, who drove, that he started talking again. He looked child-like for the first time in a while, since he had gotten his braces off a few weeks ago. He clutched a round trash-can Bev stole from the house, holding it tight, like a koala on a tree. His eyes were enormous behind his glasses, his black hair a little bit matted and stuck to his face.

He vomited, and then, commenting straight into the trash, he said “I’m fucking gay, guys.” He commented without sorrow, or a hint of upset, just frankly, almost sounding irritated with himself. It was so flat it sounded like a sitcom line, like a comeback or a punchline, not a serious omission of sexuality.

Bev laughed so hard Ben nearly crashed her car.

* * *

When they were 17, it was fucking terrifying.

“Hey, Mike,” Richie had told him from the passenger seat of his car, “wave to Eds and Bill.” Mike almost, on reflex, told Richie not to call him that. He turned to the side and saw, sure as day, that Bill and Eddie were at a stop next to them at the stoplight. Mike did wave, smiling lightly at them. It made sense, they were all going the same place. “Now hang on.” Richie warned him, and before Mike could open his mouth and ask him what the fuck he meant by that, Richie floored it, stepping on the gas and zipping away from the light so quickly that Mike nearly felt his breath get caught in his throat.

Once Richie made the turn up the ramp and on to the highway, all bets were off, and he was laughing as he whipped down the road. Richie had never been particularly reckless before, but Mike drove more often than he did. He realized, as they passed a little silver sedan, that Eddie was feeding into it, only half a step behind them. Eddie’s car was bigger, Sonia’s van, and Eddie was able to intimidate cars with the size of it, and passed Richie. He blew a kiss out the window as he did so.

Richie laughed out loud, “fuck, I love him,” he growled, mostly to himself, getting out of his lane and into the next so he could pass the van. And, yeah, Mike knew that already, but he still sort of smiled when he heard Richie say it.

* * *

When they were 18, it was pretty serious. They were sitting at a lunch table, all seven of them. They watched Bill for the cue. When he dipped his auburn-covered Eddie in a solemn nod, everyone whipped out their backpack and grabbed what college acceptances were inside. Or rejections. They decided to open them as a group.

“I’m still waiting on three schools,” Stan bit his lip.

Bev picked up his large packet from NYU, “no you’re not,” she waved it in his face.

He looked spectacularly green in his light red polo shirt, “unless there’s a sizable scholarship in there, yes I am.” He blinked, sending her a soft smile anyway at her enthusiasm.

“I think I’m done for,” Bev set down her large packet from FIT in New York City. “This is all I really wanted.”

Eddie didn’t really look like he was listening, as much as he wanted probably to, as he loved and cared about his friends. He, Bev and Ben had been talking about moving to New York for ages, though. He probably knew about all that. Mike watched Eddie with his eyes fixed on Richie’s pile, noticeably whatever was on top.

“What, Eds?” RIchie smirked down at him after a moment. “You jealous I got more acceptances?” He put one large hand over his envelopes and spread them out like you would with playing cards. There were 9 in total.

Eddie had 6 large envelopes in front of him. “No. My percentage is higher. I applied to 7 schools and have heard from 6,” he counted off on his hands, “you applied to 11, and got into 9.” He moved one envelope, revealing one small, slim envelope that read U.C. Berkeley at the top. Mike gawked at them, just astonished. Sure, he could have told you Bill’s top choice or about Stan rewriting the scholarship letter for NYU hundreds of times. But did he know the exact number of schools his friends applied to? No.

“Still have more envelopes,” Richie smirked, eyes dipping down to Eddie’s likely acceptance to Fordham. He snatched it up.

Eddie took the bait, and snatched the letter he kept staring at it. It had Stanford University embossed on the top of the envelope. “I can’t believe you applied here, but wouldn’t apply to Columbia. Or, even, Penn...or Dartmouth, or something.”

“Oh, please,” Richie rolled his eyes, and held out the envelope he was holding, “I can’t believe you’d go here but wouldn’t even consider UC Davis. You could have gotten into UCLA.”

“Yeah, but why would I wanna go to UCLA?” Eddie countered snappily, running his eyes along Richie’s acceptances. Mike caught Bill’s eyes, who was watching the entire thing with the same wary anxiety he was. They were lucky it hadn’t melted into yelling yet. It had several times before.

“Fuck,” Richie pulled his hand across Eddie’s envelopes, sliding them over to himself. _Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Albany, New York_. “We’re gonna spend all of our money on flights, aren’t we?” He said to the table at large, as if he hadn’t been solely interested in Eddie’s letters up until a moment ago. Mike couldn’t make himself be mad about it. The big fight over colleges had been the Richie and Eddie coastal wars. Everyone else’s picks were relatively tame, comparatively. Mike’s farthest school was Seattle, and he highly doubted he was going to go there.

Eddie held on to Richie’s acceptance to Stanford with a vice-like grip, but relaxed his head, and leaned it on Richie’s shoulder. It was a rare moment of tenderness between the two, especially from Eddie. “Yeah,” Richie dropped his head on top of Eddie’s. “We are.”

* * *

Mike had missed something in real time, because when he paused his long internal thought monologue, Eddie and Richie were simply sitting next to each other on the couch. Eddie still had Richie’s glasses between his fingers, but all was in a calm conversation with Bev. Mike sat up with a stretch. He sighed into it, rolling up. He grabbed his phone, it had very little battery life left, but enough to tell him the time. “Holy shit, guys,” he squinted at his phone, “It’s already 1:30.”

Richie blinked, sitting up and reaching for his glasses. Eddie threw them into his hand Eddie was already on his feet. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He ran around the back of his couch, looking for his duffle bag and his shoes. “Bill!!” He yelled, shoving his shoes on his feet.

“I’m already uh-uh-up, Ed.” Bill commented with a stretch. Bill was Eddie’s ride most of the time. Eddie’s mom used to come pick him up at 8 a.m. after sleepovers. She began to let it stretch to 11 a.m., as long as Eddie was home on the dot.

Mike thought he should give his parents some warning if Eddie was going to be flying through their front door in just a moment, so he stood too, back cracking as he did so. He cracked a few knuckles and trotted up his steps, but neither of them were in the kitchen.

Eddie’s loud footsteps pounded up the steps just a moment later, followed by Bill. “You guys have everything?” Eddie looked around himself, as if a checklist would appear from the sky. “Fuck it, we’re together every day, anyway. I’ll let you know if I find anything that’s yours.”

“Thanks for having us, Mike,” Eddie stopped his speeding rampage for a genuine smile.

“Yeah, I- uh oh.” Bill paused, staring out at Mike’s door. Mike turned, a small pivot, to see what Bill stared at. He grimaced.

“You ain’t going nowhere, Eddie.” Mike told him mournfully as they all stared out the glass door of the farmhouse. The snow had piled up, over 20”. Mike couldn’t open that door if he wanted to, and the bigger snowplow hadn’t even come through yet so they could get the smaller one out of their shed to do the driveway. His parents must have just called it a snow day, and that’s when he knew it was serious.

“Alright, everybody,” Eddie dropped his bag and clapped his hands together purposefully, “who wants to help me fake my own death?”

From the basement, Mike heard Richie laugh loudly.


	2. A Very Heterosexual Friendly Competition

“Bill,” Eddie flopped dramatically into a sled, “if you love me, you’d pull me up this hill.” Bill grimaced and looked up the hill.

“Is this the only w-way I ca-can prove m-my affection?”

It was two hours later, and the sun was already beginning to dip behind the trees, but they were still trying to enjoy what they had left of the day. Especially after they spent a half an hour listening to Mrs. K wail on the phone with Eddie about him dying or something. Unfortunately, they chose to spend the day relearning a lesson they had learned many times. When it came to sledding: what went down, must come drag their ass and their sled, back up.

At the top of the hill, Richie was running, shoving Ben and Bev on their sled towards the edge, the two laughing as they soared down the hill. It was a good hill, tucked behind two of the pastures, long and deep. Hauling their way back up was a pain in the ass. It looked like Stan had already checked out, sitting on his sled cross-legged, looking cold. Eddie looked like he was contemplating making the walk back. Richie stood at the top of the hill, not following the two on his own sled.

“ARE WE ABOUT DONE, GUYS?” Richie cupped his gloved hands around his mouth and yelled. Mike certainly wasn't going to drag himself back up the hill, Stan definitely wasn't.

“LOOKS LIKE IT, B-BUDDY!” Bill yelled back, mimicking the volume. He looked cold in his thick farming snowsuit, they were all wearing borrowed dark green suits, the ones they used to do work on the farm when it snowed.

“EDS!” Richie hollered from the top, screaming down at the bunch as Ben and Bev began to slow, tumbling off the sled and into the snow with a laugh.

“YEAH?!” Eddie called back, shouting at the top of the hill tiredly.

“COME BACK AND WE’LL RACE.” Richie insisted, sitting on his own sled.

Eddie groaned loudly, because it looked like he wanted to. He was turned towards Richie on his sled so his friends couldn't see his face. “LAST ONE?” He asked loudly, sounding a little bit pitiful.

Richie’s laugh could be heard from the bottom, loud and almost barking. “YEAH, BABY, LAST ONE.”

Eddie fussily picked up his sled, his face flushed in a deep pink. “Damn cold, makes my face so hot,” he lied, grabbing the string with a huff and making his way towards the top. He stomped away noisily in the crunch snow. The world was pretty still, at least, almost no wind and it wasn't snowing.

“Guys,” Ben began as soon as Eddie was out of earshot “are we _sure_ they haven't-”

“Yeah,” Bill interrupted. He was squinting as he watched Eddie trudge up the hill.. “I asked Eddie, l-like, t-tuh-two days ago, and-” he trailed off. He didn't really need to say Eddie would never lie to Bill, they all knew it. It was a long moment of silence after that. Of watching Eddie drag himself up the hill towards Richie.

“Should we…” Mike began with a curious tilt of his head.

“No,” Bev interrupted firmly. “You don't interfere with things like that.” She adjusted her green ear muffs, giving Ben a sly smile, “they'll figure it out.”

“Even if it makes the rest of us want to die?” Stan asked as, in the distance, they saw the small figure of Eddie tackle Richie.

“You just want to die because we’re stuck here,” Mike chastised him. “Come on, I’ll pull you back to the mainland.” By the mainland, he meant the farm. They were naturally beginning to exhaust each other. You could only last so long in each other presence.

* * *

“Took you long enough, shortstack.” Richie whistled as Eddie approached. He was wheezing and trying not to think about needing his inhaler, because he didn't need it. He _didn't_. “I knew those legs were little, but damn, I nearly wrote a novel up he-” Eddie, exhausted, heaving, tackled the enormous bastard because he wanted to collapse anyway, he might as well drag him down with him. “Jesus,” Richie coughed when Eddie collapsed on top of him. “I thought we were going sledding, not having a nap.”

“Shut the fuck up, Richie. Just give me a sec.” The wind scraped his lungs when he took a big, scrappy breath. “Goddamnit, I hate that walk.” He said after a moment, and let his face fall into Richie’s chest.

Richie wrapped hesitant arms around him. “I, for one, love that walk. You look like a duck in hammer pants every time you do it.”

Eddie hated himself for laughing, but he did anyway, face in Richie’s chest. He, apparently, didn’t have a snappy comeback, so he didn’t choose to say anything. Richie just tightened his arms around Eddie, grateful he had come back up.

“Alright,” Eddie nearly coughed, “I’m good.”

“You sure?” Richie asked, feeling the snow soak through the back of his hat, freezing his hair with icy water.

“Uh.” When Eddie tried to stand, Richie’s arms were blocking the path. “Pretty sure.”

“Because we can stay here, if you need a moment.” Richie’s eyes were still fluttered shut and he spoke calmly. “I can make that sacrifice.” Richie and his insatiable need for affection was occasionally truly unsettling, or at least it was for Eddie’s heart, sent in to weird flip-flopping tumbles. Eddie hated when his heart decided all of a sudden to be a gymnast.

Eddie rolled his eyes and rolled out of his arms, “get the fuck up, dumbass. You can cuddle inside.”

Richie opened his eyes, crossing his hands on his stomach. He smiled up at Eddie, “is that a promise?”

“I promise you I will shove you down this hill if you don’t get up.”

* * *

Richie had to shower after getting inside. Eddie felt guilty, he didn’t mention at all that his hair was getting wet. If Richie got sick, Eddie was going to feel bad about it on the inside but probably tell him he didn’t fucking care.

Eddie was nervously curled into one corner of the couch, nibbling on once-frozen pizza, as his friends argued over movie picks for the night. Bev and Bill were probably being sharper tongued than really necessary over movies, but they had spent a lot of time together, then. The snow would be clear by morning, or so Mike’s parents thought.

Richie dried his hair upstairs with a hairdryer before bounding down, needing to feel the warmth on his neck. It was fluffier than usual, then, as he came down the steps. Bill was standing, grabbing pizza. Eddie had an entirely non-eaten slice on his plate, so Richie slipped over to the couch, and took what was probably Bill’s spot, sliding in next to Eddie. Eddie wrinkled his nose, and opened his mouth to say something. Richie grabbed his ankles, tugging them over his lap. Eddie let his legs be more comfortably placed over Richie’s lap. He sighed, and offered his plate to Richie, who snagged a slice with a haughty grin. He licked over his lips, face leaning in towards Eddie, probably to plant an obnoxious kiss on his cheek. But their eyes caught and Richie paused where he was, looking back and forth between Eddie’s. Eddie blinked, before his face cracked with a smile at the weird tension, while Bev and Bill were still arguing about movies. He tucked his face into Richie’s shoulder, laughing as he went. Richie laughed too, craning his neck to the side just enough so he could still kiss Eddie’s face.

“What the f-fuck are you t-two doing?” Bill wrinkled his nose at the sight of it, choosing to plop down to sit on the floor between Mike’s legs than shove himself back unto the couch. “Is t-this some k-ki-kind of g-gay chicken? That’s _so_ 2007.”

“Who is the chicken and why is he gay?” Stan asked from his spot at the other end of the couch. Mike laughed and rolled his eyes.

“It’s a game, I don’t think anyone plays it anymore,” Mike explained easily, “you get two people of the same sex to slowly get closer together, maybe kiss, even. The first to pull back is gay, or ‘insecure in their sexuality,’” he replied with liberal air quotes on the last few words, “or into the other person, I guess.”

“Me and Bev are really good at it,” Ben added with what would be a smug little smirk if she weren’t Ben. It was mostly just over-joyed, and she pressed a warm kiss into her girlfriend’s cheek, brushing some thick red hair back with her fingers.

“How would that make sense?” Eddie questioned, shifting forward to look like he was directing his question towards Mike, but really just shifting so he was moreso in Richie’s lap. “How is the person that wants to pull back gay?”

Richie’s hand curled under his knee, tugging him ever-closer, “because anyone who’s secure in themself should be able to kiss someone they’re not into, Spaghetti-man.” As if to prove his point, he pressed a hard kiss into Eddie’s cheek. Eddie sighed, like he was suffering every day, and shoved Richie away from his face.

“Any moron can do that,” he rolled his eyes, but still kept his legs thoroughly tucked over Richie’s legs. And then, as an almost after thought, he kissed Richie’s jaw, missing his cheek just slightly in his lean up.

“Fine,” Mike blinked, sharing a look with Bill, “consider yourself dared.”

“Mike…” Ben began warily from her chair.

“What? They don’t have to.”

“I don’t think that’s a competition we need to have, Mike,” Eddie rolled his eyes, leaning back against the couch and crossing his arms. “We all know I’d win.”

“That’s fucking ridiculous.” Richie countered quickly. He shoved his glasses up on his face.

“Then just fucking do it,” Stan replied shortly.

Eddie sat up, ready to explain exactly why he would win, legs still kicked over Richie’s lap. He shuffled back so he could sit up straight, but he realized Richie’s face was steadily nearing his.

“What, Eds?” He asked innocently, his hands grabbing at Eddie’s leg, “you gonna pull back?”

Eddie nervously glanced to the side, but didn’t move his head. Beverly sighed and shoved her face into her hands, Ben soothing her shoulders. He had no idea why Beverly needed comfort when Richie’s face was getting steadily closer to his.

“Why, Rich?” He neared Richie’s face, leaning in, “you really want me to?” Their faces were too close for Eddie to focus on properly.

And then, seemingly at the exact same moment, their faces simultaneously split into wide smiles and they collapsed into giggles. Bill groaned loudly, and fell into the floor. Mike had his face in his hands. Stan squinted at them. “This is actually becoming physically painful.” Stan said plaintively, like he were observing zoo animals. He sat up, brushing at some wrinkles in his pants even though that would do very little for the issue. “I bet you two won’t,” he provided an actual challenge, something their friends had neglected to do so far.

“I’d buy the winner’s prom ticket.” Mike grinned, leaning over with interest.

Richie blinked. That was $80 on the table. Mike never made a bet he couldn’t pay out on. If it were Bill, Richie would throw something at him and call him a filthy fucking liar. And a scoundrel. And probably a collection of other words for good measure.

Eddie’s small hands were on his face. “C’mere, Rich.” Richie grinned wolfishly down at his friends. “You won’t.”

“Will I?”

“Nah,” they were nearly nose to nose. Richie’s eyelashes were close to fluttering shut, barely open to see the pink tip of Eddie’s nose, it’s subtle turning to the side.

“You sure about that?” He spoke almost directly into Eddie’s lips. Eddie’s tongue darted out quickly to wet his own. Richie became very aware that his heart was pounding in his chest, and Eddie was breathing quicker than usual.

“Very,” Eddie faked his confidence with everything he had, and leaned forward to press his mouth into Richie’s. He quickly realized that was a mistake, because now he couldn’t move or he might be seen as pulling back. Richie froze under him, just for a second, and Eddie thought he might have this one won. But then he pressed back, hand running up from it’s spot on Eddie’s knee to hold his side. Eddie didn’t know what was supposed to happen then. Did the first person to pull back still lose? How long were they expected to kiss because Eddie couldn’t breath and his heart was making an honest attempt to beat it’s way out of his chest and something was whirring around in his stomach. He slid his hands to the back of Richie’s head, and let Richie push his face a little, mouthing them into a slightly more comfortable angle, as they continued to kiss. He wanted to break off into a giggle or laugh or something but it was ripping at his chest because it was real, painfully real, he and Richie were kissing in Mike’s basement in front of all of their friends. It was something that seemed so far off and unimaginable that he didn’t even want to consider it a possibility before even though he didn’t know why. Richie’s mouth opened slightly, and Eddie froze, almost pulling off himself. Determined to not be shaken, he didn’t. Richie’s tongue just barely flicked at his lips, a whisper in a loud room. Eddie opened his mouth just a little, and Richie’s tongue brushed against his. He shivered, tightening his hold on Richie, settling in closer.

They kissed, slick movements of mouths and occasional brushing of tongues, until Eddie could feel his hands stop shaking on the back of Richie’s neck. Until Richie wasn’t holding his side in a tight enough grip to bruise, and until Eddie had no option but to take a weird, shake-y breath in through his nose or lose and he wasn’t losing. They kissed like cartographers on brand new terrain. It wasn’t how, if you explained the entire thing to Eddie, he would think it would be. He thought it would be careless and silly, a moving joke. It was careful and deliberate, thoughtful, when Richie’s tongue brushed his and his teeth just barely grazed his bottom lip. They kissed like they were making a map, something to be studied and memorized, returned to again, and again.

Richie pulled off with a panting breath and a slick sound of their mouths. They were a mere inches apart, Richie’s breath still hot on his cheek, his eyes lidded and hazy. Eddie’s breath caught in the back of his throat and he exhaled out a disbelieving “I won.” Richie’s mouth was pink and slick, and Eddie thought about closing the distance between them again.

Richie looked from his eyes, to his mouth, and then back to his eyes, and looked like he begged to differ for reasons that had nothing to do with the rules of the game.

Eddie blinked, heart hammering, mind a little fuzzy, and he looked out at his friends as his hands shifted back to Richie’s chest. They were not watching them, nor did they seem to care. Eddie licked his lips, almost wincing at the amount of saliva on them, and then swallowed. He heard the nasty voice of his mother pestering him in the back of his mind about exactly how much of that was Richie.

“Where is Stan?” He asked, anything to change the subject.

“He left f-five minutes ago.” Bill replied plainly.

“We can’t have been…” Eddie protested, at the same time Richie did, saying “that wasn’t five minutes.”

“Oh, it’s been like ten.” Mike informed them plainly. Eddie looked to Bev, who wouldn’t lie. Ben sympathetically nodded at him.

“He lasted about five minutes in and then said ‘this is fucking stupid’ and he left.” Bev added, recounting the story with a fair voice. 

“We’re g-guh-gonna watch ‘The ABC-C’s of Death,’ t-t-though.” Bill told them like either of them would care.

“What, no one wants to hear about the ABC’s of Eddie’s tongue?” Richie joked, asking the room at large. Eddie smacked him.

* * *

Richie’s hands were twitching towards Eddie. _Twitching_. He was almost worried for the state of his nervous system, with his annoying need to be touching the other boy. He wished Eddie were the type to frighten at horror films, but in truth, the scared the shit out of Richie, and Eddie could only really commentate on poor acting and special effects. It didn’t help the one they had chosen wouldn’t even scare Richie. Stan was getting annoyed with Eddie’s running criticisms anyway, and so he had taken to muttering them in a small voice to Richie, instead.

“ _That’s a good wig on blondie, there, isn’t it_?” Richie muttered into his ear. He stayed there, close, breathing contained more than it usually would. It was warm in the basement, normally always, because of its close location to the furnace, but especially that night. He could feel Eddie’s body heat radiate off him, but he didn’t move an inch.

“It’s good to know that I, too,” Eddie whispered back, barely turning his cheek, as if he wanted them to stay put too, “ _can make a career of picking up roadkill from the highway and selling it as wigs, if the need arises_.”

Richie laughed into the side of his face, mouth just inches away from Eddie’s skin. So, he closed the gap, pressing a kiss into Eddie’s face, glad they chose to dim the lights so no one could see the probable flush on his face.

Eddie had no idea what Riche thought he was doing. Eddie had no idea what he thought he was doing, sitting there and letting it happen. Was he trying to kiss him again? There, in front of all of their friends? Did Eddie particularly care? Eddie had none of the answers he so desperately wanted, and seemingly, little control over the movements of his own body. He shifted in towards Richie, turning his face a little. His heart rate really hadn’t calmed down since the entire thing started over an hour ago. He leaned into Richie, so he could mutter in his ear. “I bet you that bad man is going to show up in ...3...2...1.” The movie crashed loudly as the bad guy appeared, and Richie jolted just a little bit under him. Eddie laughed, and wrapped an arm over his shoulder, feeling himself wrapped around Richie like a lollipop wrapper. He brushed some of his hair back, behind his ear. “ _I told you that was going to happen_ ,” he laughed into the side of his face.

Richie pouted, leaning more into Eddie’s touch, “ _it was loud_ ,” he whispered back. Eddie scraped his fingers along Richie’s scalp. He kissed him there, gentle and soothing, ignoring the crashing tides of _what the fuck, Eddie_ , in his mind and letting his body do whatever it wanted to do, apparently.

Richie turned to him, smile on his face, and before he lost his nerve, seemingly, he kissed him again, on the side of his chin, dangerously close to his mouth. Eddie felt his heart rate pick up again and he took a shaky breath. “ _Richie…_ ” He breathed out in a barely-there whisper.

“ _Yeah_?” He asked in a whisper, face still hovering dangerously close to Eddie.

“ _What are we doing_?” He asked carefully, still whispering, eyes screwed shut, nervous that when he opened them, Richie would be gone and everything would be the way it was before.

“ _I think it’s a game,_ ” Richie joked in his quiet voice, kissing the corner of his mouth. It took every piece of Eddie’s will to not shudder right there. “ _I want a rematch_.” Eddie buckled, just a little bit, somewhere in his chest. Sometimes it felt like everything was always a joke to Richie. The nicknames, the affection, the kissing.

Eddie.

The eerie music playing behind them stopped. Mike sat up with a “what the-” and then, within an instant, they were plunged into darkness.

“Oh, dear _God_ ,” Stan moaned.  


	3. Lights Out & Game Over

It was actually amazing they hadn’t already lost power, but no one could see that silver lining. They used cell-phone flashlights sparingly, just to make sure everyone was okay and nobody moved. They stayed put, Richie’s hands on Eddie’s legs. Mike disappeared up the steps after a few affirmations that everyone was good. Richie instantly regretted their decision to watch a horror movie. “Okay, mom and dad said we shouldn’t sleep down here tonight.” Mike told him as he hopped back down the steps. “I already sent Stan to bed in my room before he kills someone. There’s the pull out in the living room, and they said that the guest house has two space heaters if anyone feels...brave enough to take the journey.” Bev and Ben looked at each other, “please, just don’t tell them you guys shared a bed. You know how they feel about couples in their house.”

It was already getting colder. Eddie bundled himself further into the blanket over his shoulders. Richie glanced down at him from his side, “what do you want to do?” He asked him. It had Eddie’s stomach tumbling. He hated when Richie did that, actually. For real. He hated when he asked him questions like they made their decisions together, like they were already Ben and Bev, a couple who went boldly together into the future.

Eddie shrugged, choosing not to press that issue at the moment. It was already late, he was already cold, and he was tired. “Wherever, I guess.” He shrugged. “If I’m gonna get sick, I’m probably already sick.” He replied miserably. “We can cross to the guest house.”

The guest house wasn’t far, and it was where the loser’s club spent a good amount of their hangout time in the summers. Mike’s farmhouse only had three bedrooms, his, his parent’s, and his grandad. The guesthouse had an extra two rooms, but lacked central heating. But everything did at that moment, so.

“We’ll share the pullout?” Mike asked Bill, who yawned into his hand and nodded in lieu of answer. “Let me get you guys some flashlights.” He told the rest of his friends. They picked up the candles they had lit and made their way back up the steps to the kitchen.

They had all seem to hit the wall at the exact same time, the wall where being tired wasn’t funny anymore or spending that much time together wasn’t the greatest. They were relatively silent as they went. Bev carried her and Ben’s bag, and Richie picked up Eddie’s without hesitation because he had a flashlight and a bag filled with candles and matches in his other hand. The snow had melted a little during the day, and then iced badly after the sun had gone down. They shuffled across it dangerously, the dim light of the flashlights the only light they had, sounds of the farm echoing in the dark night. Richie felt a chill creep up the back of his neck. He knew, for a fact, that it was just a dumb movie they had watched. But he still had this unshakable feeling of being watched anyway. He felt safer with his friends, shuffling across to the guest house. It loomed ahead of them, the porch not at all cleared except for the door inside.  

“You okay?” Eddie asked gently after a moment of cracking ice, sniffling noses and rustling bags.

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie licked his lips, “just worried about that ghost behind you.” Eddie jumped violently backwards, whipping around as he did so. He slipped on the ice, but barely managed to steady himself before falling.

“Go fuck yourself, Trashmouth.” He stomped away from him, boots breaking the ice on the surface of the snow, and into the house.

Beverly instinctively reached for the light after she dumped her and Ben’s bags on the ground. “Mrs. Hanlon said the space heaters were in the closet.” She shivered as Richie shut the door behind them. The room was creepy swathed in darkness, the wooden panels of the floor echoing under their feet. She yawned into her hand. “Are you guys good to just, like, go to bed?”

“Yeah.” Eddie answered for them. Richie nodded his agreement. Eddie turned around, holding out his flashlight to Richie, who took it. Eddie unlooped his own duffle from Richie’s shoulder, and then took Richie’s backpack. “You’ll get the heater?” He asked, looking ready to yawn himself. Richie nodded dumbly. “I’ll be upstairs.” Richie had a dumb, stupid, innate reaction to tell him not to leave him. That he felt safer with him there. Then realized he sounded like a dumbass even in his own mind, and Eddie left, and he shined the light for Ben and him towards the closet. It was weirdly unsettling, the creaking of the boards even in a house he knew well. The lack of light, just the sounds of Ben breathing behind him.

“Don’t let the others rush you,” Ben told him gently, twisting the knob of the closet open. Richie wanted to tell her he had no idea what she was talking about, but he knew he did. He looked to her, soft smile and cheeks bright red from the cold. “It’ll work out the way it’s supposed to,” she finished cryptically, heaving the first heater out of the closet. Richie loved Ben, because he knew she said it without expecting a response. She took a large breath, the heater was heavier than she thought it would be. Richie followed her with the second, kicking the door to the closet shut behind himself. He realized with a grimace, he’d have to carry it with one hand if he wanted to be able to see.

Bev seemed to sense distress, like she could smell it, or he had waved around a Bev symbol, and appeared at the top of the stairs, stepping down it. “Sweetheart,” she told Ben, opening the door to the bedroom on the first floor. “Put it anywhere, I’ll be right back.” She flicked her flashlight in Richie’s eyes. “I’ll be your light, Trashmouth. Let’s go.”

They clamoured up the steps of the house in silence, even though Richie could tell Bev was practically bursting at the seams of stuff she wanted to say. Eddie was waiting for him up there, holding his own flashlight. Bev turned when she saw him. “I-” She looked to Richie’s face, one more time, her sentence trailing off. “I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

“Night, Bev.” Eddie replied softly. Richie thought about it, him still bundled into the snowsuit, about crossing to him and kissing him. As if that were a thing they just did, kissed each other as greetings.

Richie laughed when Eddie shoved open the door to the bedroom. He had been very liberal with the use of candles. “Setting the mood, Spaghetti-head?” He asked with an unserious waggle of his eyebrows.

“Yeah, well, your dad _just_ left.” 

Richie choked. Eddie had mentioned his sister but never his father? He loved the daring of it. “Ol Wentworth Tozier, eh?” He asked, throwing the heater down by the double bed.

“Great name, isn’t it?” Eddie asked, sitting on the bed, crossing his legs under him. “Too bad his son’s a prick.”

Richie looked up from checking the gas tank on the heater with a smile. It felt odd on his face, too gentle, but stretching his face too thin. “Yeah…” he agreed, keeping his hands busy but his eyes on Eddie. “Too bad, isn’t it?”

Richie could see in the dull candlelight just enough to set up the heater. Eddie made an odd noise from the bed. Richie looked up at him, “you okay?”

“Yeah.” Eddie shivered again, making a similar noise. “Just cold.”

Richie cranked the heater up as high as it would go. Eddie stood up, passing by Richie, and opened the small closet in the room. He grabbed as many blankets as they had, piling them into his hands, and dumping them on to the bed. “I can’t sleep in this suit,” Richie told Eddie, “it’s warmer but I feel like I’m suffocating.”

So did Eddie, but he felt like it might have been for different reasons.

Time dripped slowly by as they shuffled into bed next to one another. Eddie shucked off the suit too as soon as the room heated up in the slightest. It was still very, very cold. Richie wasn’t in a position he could sleep in, Eddie knew it, flat on his back and his hands crossed on his stomach.

“It’s fucking cold,” Richie commented after a moment.

Eddie hummed his agreement. “We need to blow out these candles.”  Eddie told him quietly, staring around at them for just a moment. They had no option. They had to. Richie balked, a weak protest on the back of his tongue, but he knew Eddie was right. “On three?” Eddie asked, sitting up.

Richie counted slowly, and then, as soon as they hit three, they jumped out of bed, blowing out as many candles as possible, and rushing back under the covers, laughing as they went. “FUCK,” Eddie complained loudly, “IT’S SO FUCKING COLD.” Richie snorted, shoving himself closer towards the middle, hoping Eddie would take a hint.

“I think I won that one.” Richie told him quietly. He took off his glasses and set them on the end table. He couldn't see anyway. The room was plunged into total darkness. Even with the shallow breathing of Eddie next to him, he felt the nerves in his neck pinch with anxiety. God, fuck horror movies, man.

“You always think you won, Richard.” Eddie replied, sinking a little closer in. “Goddamnit, I am so cold. I know saying things about it won’t help it, but I feel the need to keep mentioning it anyway.” Richie laughed a little bit. It was fucking cold, the kind of gold that rubs away until you think it’s pressing directly into your bones. It chipped away at his skin.

“I don’t always think I’ve won. And, c’mere.” He tugged Eddie closer into himself.

“Fucking hell, your hands are cold-”

“That’s kind of the point, dumbass.”

They held their hands in between them, clasping together in a way that they’d never be able to actually fall asleep in. Richie tucked one of his legs in between Eddie’s, enjoying the radiation of body heat. He dropped one of Eddie’s hands, running his hand along his body and tucking it under his back. Eddie inhaled sharply. “You beat me today,” Richie brought up quietly, trying to focus on Eddie’s heart beat that he could vaguely feel and not that anything could be in the room with them and they would have no idea. “You never replied about a rematch.”

Eddie went very still under his touch, bundled together under the nest of blankets he had created. Richie thought he really fucked up for a moment, that Eddie was going to shove him out of the bed, he meant: hell. They hadn’t really even had the gay talk yet. Richie was so caught up in the swirl of his own mind that he didn’t notice Eddie moving.

Eddie leaned up and kissed him, once, chastely, nearly missing his mouth, before lying back, leaving almost as quickly as he came. “You win, okay,” he rolled over, but didn’t distance himself, really. He let his back press into Richie’s, tucking his head under his chin, curling his legs up and knowing Richie’s would follow. “Game over.”

Game over, the words rang out in Richie’s head. He had fucked something up here, he thought. Maybe it was the insistence on calling the entire thing a game. “Eddie, I-”

“Go to sleep, Richie.”

And he had no option but to curl in, ignore the dark, and listen.

* * *

When he woke up, Eddie was beside him. Richie watched him with a hazy smile. He was curled into his hand, breathing deeply. It was the same view he had seen so many times, and somehow different. The voice that had been yelling at him from the back of his mind was winning out in a way.

He could kiss him, Richie thought. Just like, the side of his face, or something. He could convince himself he could make a believable argument after that it was still about that dumb game. Or he could not do that, because Eddie knew it wasn’t true.

Or he could not do that, because Richie knew it wasn’t true. He could not do that because he was obsessed with the hard line of Eddie’s mouth when he was pretending to be irritated and the little knit in Eddie’s brow when he was actually irritated. He could not do that because he found himself staring at Eddie’s hands sometimes, thinking about holding them, or grabbing them, or something gay like that. He could not do that because he thought about Eddie when random love songs played in the supermarket. He could not do that because he spent half an hour on the application page for NYU before remembering he can’t do more winters. He could not do that because he literally couldn’t do that, couldn’t lie, not anymore. His heart swelled at the boy next to him, handsome and frustrating and he couldn’t stop thinking about kissing him, and he was pretty sure it was all his fault, Eddie, you insufferable fuck.

He played out a number of scenarios in his mind, as he watched Eddie, the corners of his lipped chapped and his breathing even. His head was tucked against a blue plaid pillow. Richie hadn’t noticed the plethora of colors of the blankets in their haste to get into bed. The blue reflected up into Eddie’s face, making him look a little colder. Or maybe he was just cold. Richie could wrap him up in his arms, let him be there when he woke up. He could just wake him up now, with some loud joke or some other carrying on. He could just kiss him and see what happened.

Or he could do none of those things. He could, and did, sit there, and stare. He could just let himself enjoy the view, Eddie, face gentle with sleep, wrapped in bed sheets and swathed in light from the window. Richie could stare. Richie could clip that moment’s frame right out of his life and hold it in the palm of his hands. He would stare at it for decades, centuries maybe.

And yet, somehow, he felt like he already had.

* * *

 

“God, fucker,” Eddie whined unnecessarily when Richie was in the bathroom, being there, taking up the usual amount of space his body required over the single sink, “move.” He shoved him so he could wet his toothbrush. Arrogant prick did one round of accutane and then he’s a god amongst men who needs to watch himself brush his teeth.

Mornings looked unfairly, unproportionately good on Richie. He was all just-so messy hair and thick lashes hanging lower than normal. Casually slumped shoulders and crinkly-eyed smiles. He was more lethargic, more gentle, more quiet. Still Richie. So amused, so endlessly casual, all shrugs and laughter and hands in his pockets. Eddie felt about ready to shove his toothbrush straight down his throat if he didn’t stop being so attractively _Richie_.

“Move,” Richie tried to hip-check Eddie out of the way. Eddie held his ground against the weak attack, he had already predicted it and planted his feet.

“One second,” Eddie replied fussily, uncapping his toothpaste with his thumb, adding a liberal amount to his brush. The bathroom they both chose to occupy was small, green and strange. Just a pedestal sink and a toilet, but very sage green walls and green and yellow tiled floors.

“Move or I’ll spit on you,” Richie warned clumsily around his toothbrush. Eddie flicked him from the tap he started running. Richie wrapped his free arm around Eddie’s midsection, and tugged him out of the way, spitting into the sink as he did so. “God, Kaspbrak. When we get married, our master has to have double sinks.”

“Our bathroom will look nothing like this,” Eddie replied to the joke easily, wetting his toothbrush under the tap Richie left running, the heathen. “Absolutely no green in bathrooms.”

“Blue?” Richie asked, washing off his brush more liberally than he needed to so he could keep talking. The lengths Richie Tozier would go to to keep talking....

“I’m thinking lavender.” Eddie could see his fictional bathroom at that moment. “Lavender with grey floors and a walk in shower.” It’d have soft accent towels and probably picture frames with prints in them, and nice ones. Ones they’d find at a stall in a genuine artisan craft event, not something where people could just print out thousands of the same art they didn’t do.

“God,” Richie nearly snorted, shoving his toothbrush back into his mouth, “you’re gay.”

Eddie shut off the tap awkwardly, blinking as he shoved the toothbrush into his mouth, “I am. So.” He scrubbed at his teeth with more anxiety than strictly necessary. He had come out to a number of people. Bill, Ben and Bev… it still made his heart race. He and Richie literally kissed and his heart was racing.

“...same.” Richie was staring at him, brush hanging out of his mouth dumbly.

“We knew this already, didn’t we?” Eddie replied flatly, holding his brush still for a moment.

“Yeah,” Richie’s chest huffed a bit, like a laugh got caught in it’s net, “we did.” Richie turned back to the mirror. Eddie did the same. They still didn’t fit by the sink. Richie’s shoulders invaded the space Eddie should be, Eddie’s hand on Richie’s side of the sink. Only half of them fit in the mirror’s image. Their eyes caught anyway. “I can do lavender.” Richie shrugged, spitting into the sink again.

* * *

 “What on earth is going on here,” Mike yawned, wrapping his arms in a sleepy hug around Bill’s shoulders. Everyone had made it back to his kitchen, and the lights were on. He didn’t know if it was generators his parents didn’t want to set up last night, or if the power was back. He was more intrigued by the little dance going on his kitchen. Eddie was making pancakes in the griddle. It wasn’t an entirely out of the ordinary experience, but he and Richie danced around each other, grabbing spoons of batter and asking for ingredients. They seemed to be making it into an entirely complex dance routine, and it was just pancakes. Eddie wiped some chocolate from Richie’s cheek. Richie handed him a carton of blueberries. They were giggling and giddy as they did so. Eddie sprinkled cinnamon and extra cocoa into Richie’s mug. Richie grinned so hard at him it looked like his glasses were going to fall off.

“It’s like a game of domestic chicken,” Bev blinked. “They’ve kissed one time, and they’re practically married.” Eddie ignored her, setting down Richie’s cup of hot chocolate by the spatula. Richie picked it up with a smile in his direction.

“And I thought we were the lesbians.” Ben joked, looping her arms around her girlfriend’s middle from her spot on a stool.

“We’ve kissed more than once.” Eddie corrected her. Richie smirked into the pan. He sprinkled blueberries into the pancake in the shape of a smile. It came out more like a grimace, but the intention stayed the same. Eddie rolled his eyes at it, but had a soft smile on his face when he went to flip it.

“I’m sorry, are you two dating yet?” Stan demanded with irritation. They stopped, and looked at each other. They frowned in an almost eerily similar way, glancing at each other quickly.

“If it’s any help, I think we might be engaged.” Richie replied, voice meeting somewhere at the crossroads of JOKE and SERIOUS.

Stan caught Mike’s eye, and then Bill’s. Bill grabbed Eddie’s neck, Mike grabbed Richie’s shoulders. Stan crossed the room and threw open the door to the pantry. “IN!” He demanded furiously, and they unceremoniously dumped their friends inside. “We’re gonna play a fun new game, it’s called 7 Minutes in Heaven,” he explained hotly to the baffled looking men. “Let us know who wins,” he commented, slamming the door of the pantry shut. Eddie reeled, ready to just start yelling in indignation, but Richie looked ever unbothered. He blinked at the shut door, before frowning with consideration Eddie and making a small "huh," noise. Eddie took a deep breath. 

“So,” Richie commented lightly, clicking on the overhead light so it could shine upon the rows of soups and cereals, “are we dating?”

The ‘ _I don’t know, are we_?’ danced on the tip of Eddie’s tongue. He had played dumb long enough… he could only be so passably moronic. “Yeah.” He replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Nice.”

“Nice.”

Eddie was almost frustrated at how little the energy had changed between them. Like they were just mentioning something that was so blatantly obvious it seemed almost redundant to address it. He had imagined flowers and like… dinner? He had no idea what he and Richie would do with themselves at a serious restaurant, but the sentiment remained. He felt slightly doomed, tying himself to Richie Tozier, to a life of getting shoved in closets and avoiding talking about feelings amongst many jars of pasta sauce. It wasn’t the orchids and expensive ceviche life, but it was theirs, he supposed.

“Well,” Richie punched his shoulder uncomfortably, “we can just...tell them that now, I think.” He commented awkwardly, scratching at the back of his neck.

“I mean,” Eddie shrugged, “We have over six minutes left.”

Richie raised his eyebrows, “and?”

Eddie groaned, and finally stepped towards Richie finally. He wrapped careful hands on his face, “I’m going to kiss you, dumbass.” He explained. “If we’re gonna be dating, I deserve one kiss that’s not a fucking joke.”

“Oh, Eddie,” Richie almost looked pitying, returning Eddie’s touch by wrapping his arms around his middle, “they’ve never been a joke.” When Eddie kissed him, he laughed, but it didn’t feel like a joke.

Not at all.

Several minutes later, when they emerged with messy hair and bright eyes, Richie’s arm slung over Eddie's shoulder, no one looked up.. “We’re dating.” Eddie announced. No one particularly cared, nor looked up from their pancakes. Richie frowned, as he felt like the entire thing should have more drama surrounding it.

“Well, do you guys wanna know who won?” Richie prompted, ready to make a cheese-y ass joke like his life depended on it.

“Oh, I already know who won.” Stan replied plainly, sipping at his coffee and not looking up from his phone.

“Who?” Eddie asked.

“We did,” the group replied as one.

“So, guys:” Mike shoved more pancake into his mouth with a shit-eating grin, "prom?" 

**Author's Note:**

> this was one of my gifts for the giveaway, which i did on my tumblr tossertozier. the winner is stephenkingatone who is actually my mutual on tumblr so :D ! follow him...he's a joy. thanks for reading!


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